All language subtitles for 5-7 A Guilty Thing Surprised

Thank you.

When you've had your tea, Kat, would you
help me out and take Mr. Villers over to

him? Yep.

And Will, on your way home, you go and
see Alf Tawny for me.

If you like.

I do like.

Tell him I want a nice chicken for
madam's dinner tomorrow.

Why is Mr. Villers not working in his
own home?

He has a wife, too.

I think it's funny.

It's quiet there for his work.

And I reckon Mr. Nightingale likes the
idea of having a writer in the family.

Books.

He's proud-like.

Well, Mrs Nightingale's not proud.

She don't like her brother at all, I
think. Don't you go saying things like

that, young catcher.

Adam. Good afternoon.

Any tea left?

I just have some hot water to get,
madam.

Oh, Katia, were you going down to the
village tonight?

Not the village. I meet a friend in
Kingsmarkham. Oh, that's all right.

There's a parcel in the hall you could
post for me, if you would.

Can I lend the parcel? Of course.

Here comes Miss Pop Music.

Just sit down and have your tea, Sean.

Afternoon, all.

Sean, for pity's sake, take those things
out of your ears.

What? Turn it off.

Not if we can't all hear that buzzing
noise.

I could be in a bottle, it is.

Madam doesn't want to have to listen to
that racket.

I like Pop Music.

There you are, see?

She's not a square.

That's no way to talk about Mrs
Nightingale.

You're all the same, you wrinklies.

Stuck in a groove. Your groove's
gardening, Sean Lovell, and don't you

forget it.

I take Mr. Villa's tea to him now, I
think.

He's perfectly capable of getting his
own tea.

He wants tea.

It's no trouble.

Yeah, sure.

Lost one of your earrings, have you?

Leave it out, Will. Now then, now then.
Will, you shouldn't tease him.

I mustn't take any notice of what they
say, you know.

Just pig ignorant.

That's all they are.

What do I care about?

I've got to get going.

I'll be 23 in October.

Look at George Michael.

19, he was a star.

You know what I promise, Sean?

I won't forget.

Want to lift home, Mrs. Cantrip?

That's very kind of you, dear.

I'm sorry if I was sharp with you
earlier, Captor.

Stop.

When you was talking about Mrs.
Nightingale and her brother, I didn't

want no talk in front of Will Palmer.

He's like an old woman, the way he
gossip.

But you wasn't sharp, Mrs. Cantrip.

My mother, she will teach you what sharp
is.

As long as you didn't take it amiss,
dear.

You know, every day in the holidays,

Mr. Villers is working up there.

And never, not once, is Mrs. Nightingale
going up to see him.

I think it's funny not to like your own
brother.

Maybe he's not easy to like.

You can depend on it. If there's a
quarrel, and I'm not saying there is

one, it's not madam's fault.

He's got a very funny manner with him,
Mr.

Villers.

Naughty temper.

Sarcastic-like.

Between you and your teacher, I wouldn't
be too happy if I had a boy at that

school where he teaches.

Dennis, how nice to see you. Hello,
Quentin.

Oh, dear.

Father Blum?

Well, term starts in two days' time.

Oh, yes, of course. So, no more proper
work until Easter.

That which reminds me.

An advance copy.

I thought you might like it.

Dennis, thank you.

Words Within Love by Dennis Villers.

Read the dedication.

To my brother-in-law, Quentin
Nightingale.

A true friend and patron.

Makes me feel like the Earl of
Southampton.

The only begetter of these ensuing
essays, Mr QN.

Well, as long as you like it.

Have you seen Elizabeth today? No,
should I have?

No, I just wondered.

No, I haven't seen anybody.

Well, I can't wait to get started on the
book.

How's my beautiful wife?

Hello, Quentin.

I've missed you.

Had a good day?

Not so bad.

London's a madhouse.

Drink?

Get the tomato juice for me.

Katya, not a bath.

She took the car into King's Markham.

All on our own, then, are we?

Hmm.

All on our own.

Quite mild here today.

It hasn't been a bad winter, on the
whole.

More wine, darling?

Not for me, darling.

The evenings will be getting lighter
soon.

Yes.

Yes, I suppose they will.

I wonder if Dennis and Georgina will
look in.

I shouldn't think so.

Maybe I'll give them a ring, see if
they'll come over for a hand of bridge.

What do you think?

It's up to you, darling.

Would you like to?

Well, you decide.

I really don't mind one way or the
other.

I'll just give them the ring, then.

Of course, they may not want to come.

Why, in God's name, did you double two
no-trumps? You've given them the game

and the rubber.

Well, I thought that if I was...
Thought?

No, that's not possible.

One more.

Now, I've got a couple of hours' work to
put in at the school library before I go

to bed. What, again?

I told you earlier, I've got a reference
to look up.

Dennis is dedicated to his work.

What else is there?

Oh, Georgina, there's something I've
been meaning to give you.

I'm sure you're going to love it.
Talking of dedication, would you write

in the book for me? Yes, of course.

The thought of our past years in me doth
breed perpetual benediction.

Your brother, Dennis Villers.

That's not like you. What is it? To be
inaccurate should be brother-in-law.

There's no need for too much bloody
accuracy.

It's really lovely, Elizabeth. Thank
you.

You're more than welcome, my dear.

I'll never use it again. When you finish
billing and cooing...

Well, that was very pleasant.

I think I'll go straight to bed,
darling.

Going to stay up for a bit, are you?

I may have a walk in the garden before I
go to bed.

It's quite chilly out there.

I'll put a coat on.

Mind you do.

Good night, then.

Good night, darling.

Sleep well.

Thank you.

All right.

She'll still be dead when we get there.

We're going to need the hose, John, to
make sure the downpipe's clear.

Yes.

Morning, Mr. Waxford.

Nasty business.

Yeah.

Murder, sir.

Not much doubt about that.

No. Skull was stolen, wasn't it?

Not much suspicion of suicide there.

Morning.

Morning, John.

Oh, hello, Rich.

How long has she been dead?

Well, I'll have to check with the Met
Office about the temperature last night,

but since about midnight.

Give or take an hour.

There was a lot of wind last night.
That'd cool a body quicker, wouldn't it?

I can let you know more precisely this
afternoon.

Brand instrument?

Looks like it.

Pretty woman.

Someone didn't like her.

Hang on a minute, Reg.

John, tell Dad he's wanted on the phone.

I was cleaning out the gutter. Well, I
can't keep dragging you out of the

gutter, Mike.

Get yourself up here. Why? What's
happened?

You know Mrs. Elizabeth Nightingale?

Yeah, by right.

Pots of money. Husband's a Lloyd's
underwriter. Why? What's she done?

Got herself murdered.

That's what she's done.

Try and be back for lunch, Mike.

Not at home, I'm afraid.

I've made this enormous steak and kidney
pie.

What were you doing up here so early? I
was worried I'd left the ventilation

open in the greenhouse.

And that wind.

Morning, sir. What's the news?

Buggering up my garden, that's the news.

Well, they're looking for the weapon
that killed Mrs Nightingale. Don't

reckon you'll find it among my alley
boards?

We'll see.

Oh, Mr Palmer here found the body.

Ah. Mr Palmer, what did you think when
you found that Mr Nightingale wasn't in

his bedroom?

I don't know what I thought.

I thought he might be in his bathroom,
the door being shut.

But you didn't look?

No, sir.

I mean, it wasn't my place to be in the
house at all, really.

And I wouldn't have been if it hadn't
been for finding the doors open and

thinking they might be burglars.

Besides, sir, all they slept separate
like. They were married and... And you

quite reasonably thought that he might
be in Mrs Nightingale's bedroom.

Yes, sir, I did at that.

Mind you, the gentry have their funny
ways.

The likes of me and you don't always see
things the same way, do you?

And Mrs Nightingale wasn't in her
bedroom either.

And her bed hadn't been slept in, sir.

Well... Thank you, Mr. Palmer.

You've been very helpful.

Mr. Nightingale's been real good to me,
and Madam, too.

There's some I could name, take
advantage, but not me.

Don't think I didn't have the
opportunity.

Oh, quite sure.

But, uh, Sean, what's his name?

Lovell, Governor.

Sean Lovell. He took advantage, didn't
he? Common as dirt, he is. And his

mother's no better than she has to be,
neither.

What do you mean by taking advantage?

Well, sir, fancies himself singing in
one of them pop groups he does.

Madam was soft, you see.

She'd just stand there and listen to him
when he started this singing. I'd have

kicked him right the arse. I can tell
you if he'd looked at me the way he

looked at her.

I hope I'm dead and gone. All this
equality gets any worse than what it is

already. Speak good English, do you,
Miss Dorn?

Oh, no. Very bad.

Everybody tells me I'm very bad.

How long have you lived here?

Since last spring. Nearly nine months.

For my English.

My father and Mr Nightingale are
business friends.

Oh, so you know them well.

You live like one of the family.

There is no family.

It's just him and her.

Now she's dead.

Yes, but you were great friends with
Mrs. Nightingale, like a grown-up

daughter.

A daughter.

Oh, I must not laugh when it is so sad.

But it is funny to hear what you say.

Daughter?

Mrs. Nightingale would not like to hear
that, I think.

She still thinks she's a young girl,
very young and...

Pretty in a little skirt and eyeliner on
and so.

But she talked to you about her life?

No. Never.

Nothing.

At lunch we sit so.

She there, I here.

How's your mother, Katja?

Will it rain today, I think?

And now I lie down and have my little
rest.

We talk? No. We never talk.

You must have been lonely.

Oh, no!

Now I have my friends in King's Markham.

Many, many friends. Boys and...

Girls too.

Why would I want to stay here with old
people?

She was only 40.

This is what I'm saying.

Mr Nightingale is a nice man and he says
things to make me laugh.

But he's older than my father. He's not
like you.

You went to King's Markham yesterday.

I went to post a parcel for Mrs
Nightingale.

And then I see a friend.

When you came back here last night, did
you see anybody?

Well, I went to the cinema with my
friend who was very rich and quite

boring. And afterwards he wanted to take
me to his house.

But I would not go because he always
wants me in his bedroom and his mother

doesn't like it. So we sulk and we go to
the Olive and Dove and drink vodka.

And what time did you come back home?

My friend had to get up very early in
the morning for the hunting. So he went

to his house and I came home.

It's 11 o'clock, I think. And did you
see anything when you got here?

Yes, I see Mrs.

Nightingale. As I drive past, I see her
hiding in the doorway in the wall.

Very funny, I think.

I see her cross the road and go into the
wood.

And then I know what she's doing.

She's looking to see that no one is
following to spy on her.

You see, some people... Yes, yes, we
understand all that.

Well... You've been very frank, Miss
Dorn.

Yes, I think I've been good.

Well, now I'm going to make you a good
cup of coffee, tell you all about

myself, while this old police chef talks
to poor Mr Nightingale.

Oh, well, that's very... I don't drink
it, as a matter of fact.

I've had some already, anyway.

Some other time, perhaps.

We'll have to talk to you again, Miss
Dorn.

Yes, I think so, too.

Come along, Inspector.

I thought we'd have gone spontaneously
combust in there for a moment.

Like that chap in Blue Coast.

Just entirely melted away.

Mr Nightingale.

Mr Nightingale.

Mr Nightingale, sir. He's locked himself
in his room.

No answer, sir.

I don't blame him.

Mr. Nightingale?

Mr. Nightingale! Is there any other way
in the bedroom?

No, just the window.

Mr. Nightingale!

Mr. Burden?

Mr Nightingale.

Kingsmarkham CID.

We have to question you, Mr Nightingale.

We have to question everybody in a case
like this.

I realise that.

It was childish of me to lock myself in
here.

What do you want to ask me?

First, yesterday evening.

Did you spend it alone?

No, my brother-in-law and his wife came
up to play bridge.

He's Dennis Villiers.

He's a rather distinguished author,
writes books about Whitworth.

Really?

How long were they here?

They came at about half past eight and
left at ten-thirty.

I see.

Thank you.

How did your wife seem last night?

Absolutely the same as always.

She was a terribly generous woman.

She always had some little present for
my sister-in-law.

Last night was just for fame.

Gave her some little gift.

What was the present?

I don't know.

I only heard Georgina thank her for it.
She seemed delighted.

Why did your wife go into the forest
last night, Mr Nightingale?

I don't know that either.

My God, I wish I did.

Was it something she often did?

No.

She often went for a walk in the
grounds.

Late in the evening, I mean.

I never dreamt she'd go into the forest.

Were you a happily married couple, would
you say, sir?

Of course we were happily married.

Ask any of our friends.

I'm sorry, but would I be like this?

though why I am, if we hadn't been
happy.

Don't distress yourself, Mr Nightingale.

Mr Palmer came into your bedroom at just
after six o'clock this morning.

He couldn't find you.

Do you mind telling me where you were?

I was in the bath.

Curious time to have a bath.

We all do curious things occasionally.

I woke up early.

The wind woke me. Did you hear the wind
last night? It was very strong, I

believe.

I couldn't go back to sleep again, so I
had a bath.

Well.

Thank you, Mr and Lady Kell.

Nothing much here.

No diary to comprise anything.

He could build.

Dressmakers mostly.

Only a tie.

Bruton's feet. 58 pounds.

200 pounds.

One shirt and pager. 90 pounds.

Really?

I don't think she was killed by a
dressmaker, Mike.

It's like we're in church, isn't it?

Not exactly a council maisonette, is it?

Nothing out of place. Everything
polished.

You ought to whisper.

That dog?

What, Ed? Come and have a look.

The child's still wet, but it's on a hot
rail.

Wouldn't take seven hours to dry, would
it?

Well, either he's had two bars, or just
one, between 9 and 10 this morning.

The first one could have been a
cleaning-up operation.

Brought the blood on the power, or
somewhere.

Didn't seem to be.

Made from the digestive juices of a cow,
or so I'm told.

Why such high cost, having so short a
lease, dost thou upon thy fading mansion

spend?

Pardon?

Just a line of a sonnet that came into
my head.

Personally, I was thinking, what a waste
of money when you've got to get old

anyway.

I see there was another man, Reg.

I can't believe she went with all this
trouble just for her husband.

Well, some women do, Mike.

But yes, I think there was another man.

The man she went into the forest to
meet, presumably.

What's your theory?

That nothing else suspected followed her
into the forest and killed her?

I don't have a theory.

But there's a candidate for the third
side of our triangle.

The gardener's boy. There can't be more
than 20.

I want to know about your movements last
night.

What time did you knock off here?

Oh, five.

Where'd you go?

Went home, had my tea, watched telly and
went to bed.

Do you live on your own?

No. With me old lady, my mother.

And your mother watched television with
you?

Of course.

Haven't you got a girlfriend?

You've seen the girls round here.

So you and your mother watched
television until you went to bed?

Sure.

What programmes did you see?

Well, there was Coronation Street.

Then that sitcom about a couple of women
working in a bank.

Then mind her and the news.

So what time did you get to bed?

I don't know.

Oh, yeah.

After the news, we watched that
Australian film about the war.

It was good.

Oh, that.

What? I haven't got to watch that
Australian film that Lovell was on

about. Oh?

They cancelled it.

Put on a musical instead.

Who are her friends, Mrs. Cantrip? Who
called on her?

Well, sir, there was the lady she saw on
business like, arranging bazaars and gym

carnets, if you know what I mean.

And then there was their friend that
came here to dine, Sir George and Lady

Larkin-Smith, Mr. and Mrs.

Primero. Oh, all the county folk.

What about men friends?

Men friends, sir?

Well, a lady could have men friends
these days without there being anything

improper. Oh, no, sir.

Her friends is their friends, sir.

Fair enough.

Just one other thing, Mrs. Cantrip.

Did you remove a damp towel from Mr.
Nightingale's bathroom this morning?

No, sir, definitely not.

I wasn't looking for work this morning,
I can assure you.

Now, I changed the sheets Monday
mornings and the towels Tuesday and

Friday. Supposing somebody else were to
have done it? No, they couldn't have,

sir. The soiled linen's kept in the van
and the back kitchen. No one's been near

it today. I can vouch for that.

Well, I don't doubt your word, Mrs.
Cantrip, but just to set my mind at

rest, Mr. Burton, will you have a look?

I'd rather go and see Mr. Billers.

Where will I find him? Around the other
side of the stable block.

Mr. Billers lives here in this house?
No, not lives, sir.

He comes up every day to do his writing
like.

You can't make it. Take the little path
around the side of the table.

The old house, it's called.

I do.

I'm Chief Inspector Wexford.

Good morning, Chief Inspector. What can
I do for you? Just a few questions, sir.

Certainly. Sit down, will you?

I realise this must have been a shock
for you.

Well, to tell you the truth, it makes
very little difference. My sister and I

weren't particularly attached to each
other.

Oh?

May I know why not?

We had nothing in common.

She was an empty-headed, frivolous
woman, and, well, I'm not a frivolous

man.

I believe you and your wife spent the
evening in the manor.

Yes, we played bridge, we left at 10.30.

We lived near Crasterwell. It takes,
well, 10 minutes to drive there from the

manor. My wife and I went straight to
bed.

And how did your sister seem?

Normal?

She... She seemed exactly the same as
always.

A gracious lady of the manor whom
everyone loved.

Her bridge was appalling, but then it
was neither more nor less appalling than

usual. Did you know that she took
nocturnal walks in the forest?

I knew that she took nocturnal walks in
the grounds.

Presumably it was because she was
foolish enough to venture further that

she met the end she did.

I wonder, sir, were you surprised by her
death?

Of course I was surprised.

I was shocked.

But women alone in lonely places do get
murdered, or so I'm told. I mean, I

don't read the newspapers.

Matters of that sort don't interest me.

Well, you've made it quite clear that
you disliked your sister.

Strange that you so willingly accepted
her generosity.

I accepted my brother-in-law's
generosity, Chief Inspector.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have
rather a lot of work to do.

How dare you?

Get out of my room.

Well, we'll speak again later, sir.

When you're more under control.

I think a teacher would keep his house
in trim.

School teacher and successful author.

That car's been washed this morning.

Funny thing to do the morning you hear
that your sister's been murdered.

It isn't his car. He drives an Allegra.

Must be his wife's.

I wouldn't have said it was muddy in the
forest last night, would you?

Tacky. We had rain last weekend,
remember?

Right.

Drive on, Bryant.

Yes, sir.

We'll leave the village for now.

I'd like the answer to three main
questions at the moment.

Why was Nightingale taking a bath at
five in the morning?

Right. Or why was he pretending to?

Why did Sean Lovell tell me that he'd
been watching a television programme

last night, which in fact had been
cancelled at the last moment?

What's the other one?

Why was Elizabeth Nightingale friendly
with everyone, except her only brother?

You're an admirer.

Very.

I've got a burden.

This is nice. I think you're following
me.

Good afternoon, Miss Jordan.

No, he's not following you, I'm afraid.

I'm taking him out to see Mrs. Lummel.

Oh, that is not very nice.

Very dirty woman.

Well, we'll see.

Let's hope she's at home.

It's not a home.

It's a house full of pigs.

I don't know what these pig people do.

Well, don't catch anything nasty in that
dirty place.

Odd my little life, I think she means to
tangle your eyes too.

Rightful girl.

I think so.

Good heavens, if I thought my daughter
would ever behave in that kind of way.

Oh, good God, Mike.

I'm a married man and a faithful
husband.

But I reckon I'd have been in with a
chance 30 years ago.

Oh, you are a cold fish.

Mrs. Lovell.

What do you want?

Mrs. Lovell.

Right, what do you want?

A word with you, if you please.

We're police officers.

Better come in.

About her over at the house, is it?

His lordship said there was police
about. His lordship? My boy, Saul.

We're just making routine inquiries, Mrs
Lovell.

Would you mind telling me how your son
spent last evening?

He can sit down if you like.

At his

tea, then he said about watching the TV.

Why not? He pays for license, don't he?

I'm sure he does.

He didn't watch it after 9.30, though,
did he?

He went out.

Where'd he go?

I never asked.

I don't interfere with his ways and he
don't interfere with mine.

Maybe he went down the shed.

Spends a lot of time down the shed, he
does.

Got his records down there.

Can't he play his records in the house?

He can if he wants.

Don't matter to me one way or the other.

I don't interfere with him and he don't
with me.

What time did you get back in?

I never heard him.

My gentleman friend came round about
seven.

Sean and him donated off all that
ground.

Reckon that's why his lordship took
himself off.

He hadn't come in when my friend went.
Half ten, that'd be.

Well, there, like I say, I don't
interfere with him and he don't with me.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Sean was very fond of Mrs Nightingale, I
believe.

You can believe what you like.

Live and let live. That's my motto.

Her, up at the house, she believed in
interfering with folks, making them

better themselves.

Gave his lordship some funny ideas.

What sort of ideas?

Getting into show business, singing, all
that.

I never took that much notice.

Maybe she fancied him.

I never asked.

Well, thank you very much, Miss Lowe.

You'd have no objection to searching,
perhaps?

Search all you like.

Rather you than me.

Never in all my years of CID work. Bit
depressing, eh?

Disgusting. Well, your lady friend did
warn you.

There was a rotting pigeon underneath
the bed. Yeah, and what about the

kitchen?

Well, take a look at this.

Quite a contrast, eh?

Could almost be a love nest.

I'm sorry no one's ever going to
persuade me that a lady like Mrs.

Nightingale would have assignations with
Sean Lovell in a place like this.

Oh, you're probably right.

Easy access to the forest, though.

So what was he doing last night?

Well, he wasn't in the pub, sir. I
checked there.

The last bus from my fleet leaves at
9.30. He wasn't on that?

No, sir. Maybe he was playing his
records in the shed.

Well, then why did he lie about it?

Don't go too far away, Brian. We shan't
be too long.

Mrs. Villers?

Yes? We're police officers.

Oh, morning.

Afternoon. Afternoon, rather.

My husband's not here.

He won't be long. He's gone back to the
manor.

It's you we'd like to talk to, Mrs.
Villers.

Oh, would you?

Oh, right. I'm going to come in.

Please, sit down.

All right.

Well, what would you like to ask me?

Just a couple of routine questions, Mrs.
Villers.

First of all, did you and your husband
come straight back here after your visit

to the manor last night?

Yes.

And what did you do when you got back
here?

We went to bed, straight to bed.

Did you drive up in that car outside?

No, we went in Dennis' car.

We've got two cars, you see.

When we got married last year, I had a
car, Dennis had a car.

Only old cars.

We decided to keep them both. They're
not worth much, you see.

Dennis is out in his car at the moment.

His car's newer than my car, of course.
But your car outside has just been

cleaned.

Won't you sit down, Mrs Willis?

Do you always clean your car on a
Thursday?

I expect you're like my wife.

A special time of the week for every
little job, and then nothing gets left

out.

No, I'm afraid not.

I'm not methodical. I know I ought to
be. I know Dennis.

Would like it if I was, but why do you
ask?

Well, I'll tell you.

If you were methodical, you'd work to a
routine and be conditioned by it.

But as you're not, and you only clean
your car when you feel like it or when

it's dirty,

why did you choose today of all days?

Oh, I'm sorry, I don't understand.

I suppose you took the very sensible
attitude that...

If you're unhappy or worried, one works

to take one's mind off one's troubles.

Yes.

Yes, that was it.

You see, I mean, I wasn't very upset.
She wasn't my sister.

True. She was your husband's sister.

Your sister-in-law.

They didn't like each other, did they?

No, they didn't. They didn't get on at
all. If you must know, Dennis couldn't

stand her.

Strange. Elizabeth Nightingale seemed to
get on with everybody else.

Did she?

Oh, the county people, you mean.

Yes, well, Elizabeth didn't have any
real friends.

My husband, Dennis, he thinks she was
killed by a maniac.

One of those men that goes around
attacking women. And I expect that's

what it was.

I mean, she must have been mad. They go
to the forest at night. Really, she was

asking for it.

Perhaps.

Why didn't your husband get on with his
sister?

I hadn't anything in common. I expect he
thought her rather silly and

extravagant. Was she?

Well, she and Gwen, they weren't the
sort of people I'd been used to. I'd

never associated with people like that
before I was married.

I used to teach, but I gave it up for
good when I got married last year

because, well, I think that a woman's
place is in the home, looking after her

husband, don't you?

I mean, I think that's best for people
like us to have a real home, family.

Too many of these outside interests.

What does he do with his money, Mike?

It's not spent on here.

I mean, I know he's made a fortune
writing books about William Wordsworth,

but he's got a good meeting job.

She's a bit jumpy, isn't she?

I think if you ask me.

She's probably just nervous about being
interviewed by policemen. I doubt that

she's fine in the ordinary way.

There's nothing here.

No traces of blood.

Nothing can conceivably be used as a
murder weapon.

This is blazing away merrily.

They could have burned anything in here.

And she's had hours to do it.

Well, Mrs. Willards.

I can't think while my husband's so
long. I mean, you'd think that today

he'd want to be here with me.

Okay, now, excuse me.

This chump is Vince.

Mr. Miller?

Tell you how he looks like, quick.

Excuse me.

Mr. Grace.

Who? Came in yesterday with a stroke.

I became in this morning.

Oh, thank you.

Come on!

John, leave her alone.

If you make me late, I'll kill you.
Leave me alone.

I told you to leave her alone.

She's going to make me late.

Is she well enough to go to school,
Mike? You know she is.

It's always the same at the beginning of
the term.

She spends an hour being sick in the
bathroom, and then as soon as she gets

to school, she's fine.

She's too sensitive.

That's the trouble.

I'm not sensitive.

If I ever have kids and they go on like
her, I'll give them all right with

walloping.

What happened to Mr. Lewis?

He was admitted yesterday afternoon.
Suspected stroke.

Oh, no. He went home last night.

Oh. Yes.

Thank you. OK.

Anyway...

They are. You see, John isn't a bit
worried.

You knew you were getting terribly bored
being at home all the time.

You

know

that villain who's discharged himself
from hospital?

Nothing wrong with him.

Good morning, Red. Morning.

He was dying yesterday.

Rubbish. They went over him with a
microscope at the infirmary. He's as fit

as you are, Reg.

Fitter. All right, all right.

Doesn't seem to me to be fit at the best
of times.

He works too hard, that's all. I ought
to know. He's a patron of mine.

And I suppose, being a true priest of
the medical profession, you're going to

keep whatever's wrong with him locked in
your Hippocratic bosom. I would if there

was anything to lock.

There's nothing wrong with him.

No, I just think... Who?

Dennis Phillips.

Largest life on his way to work. There's
nothing wrong with him, apparently.

What about the fit he ate yesterday?

Who knows?

The trendy unregistrar at the hospital
plumps for an allergic reaction.

And you?

Psychosomatic.

Psychosomatic.

Let's go to my office.

This place is like a morgue.

Their ones are the best ones.

Could it have been guilt?

There's just been murders around. You'd
expect some sort of reaction.

Go ahead, don't go.

What are you going to tell us about
Elizabeth Nightingale?

Ah, Elizabeth Nightingale. Let me take
your coat.

Oh, thanks, Rich.

Yes, Elizabeth Frances Nightingale was a
well-nourished

and well-preserved woman of about 40?

41. Hmm.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Ah, yes. Death resulted from a fractured
skull and multiple injuries to the

brain. At least a dozen blades were
struck with a not very blunt metal

instrument. I don't mean a knife or an
axe. I mean something with sharper edges

to it than, say, a piece of lead pipe or
a poker.

What do you think it might have been?

Oh, it's a tricky one, isn't it?

Don't think I'd care to hazard a guess.

Anyway, it's all in there.

They're in?

To give us an idea of what we're looking
for.

Well? Put it down here, Polly.

Could be... Ooh.

Metal vase.

Or even a cooking utensil.

Oh, I see.

Coffee? Oh, yes.

One sugar, please.

So some bloke goes into the woods, sees
his wife carrying on another man, so he

whips out an egg whisk and lays about
him.

Do you don't mean to say you've got
Quentin Nightingale lined up for this

job? Well, he's human, isn't he? He's
got passions.

The weapon we're looking for depends to
some extent on whether the murder was

premeditated or not.

Go on.

Well, did our man go into the woods
knowing he was going to commit a murder

and take a weapon with him?

Or was he just out for a walk? In which
case, the murder would have had to be

committed by whatever came to hand.

All right, well, let's suppose for a
moment that he was unpremeditated.

What would he be carrying?

I mean, what do people take out into the
woods at night?

Walking stick?

Too thin.

Shooting stick, possibly.

Might seem a bit far-fetched, but golf
club?

For a few practice drives through the
trees?

How about the metal heel of a shoe?

Any dirt in the wound?

Oh, good God, everything the obvious.

You ask the question yourself, Reg. What
do people carry when they're going out

into the wood at night?

A torch.

We've got a couple. We keep them in the
garden room.

I will show you.

Two pins, I'd send them away with a flea
in their ear.

You'd better see who it is.

Oh, hello, Mrs. Cantrip. Is that...
Gwen!

How are you? Thought I'd come and see
how you were bearing up. It's all been

so dreadful for you.

It's nice to see you, Georgina.

Anyway, I brought my own lunch so that
Mrs. Cantrip won't have to be cooking

for me.

You look bad, Gwen.

Still, I know it's been a bit of a
strain and everything, and I...

Perhaps I shouldn't have come.

No, no, it's good if you're to trouble.

Come into the drawing room.

Perhaps Mrs. Cantrip could take you to
where the torches are kept.

Of course. Mrs. Cantrip.

Yes, sir? Could you take Inspector
Burton to the garden room?

As if I wouldn't have given her a nice
lunch.

She only had to ask like a lady.

If you don't mind me saying so, sir.

When is that, sir?

That's quite a nasty act. I've been here
five or six years back.

And that Mr. Toohey go down the stairs,
all his broken leg.

A bit too free with Mr.

Nightingale's whiskey bottle, if you ask
me.

Who's Mr. Toohey?

Friend of the family?

Oh, no, sir.

Just a servant.

Him and his wife used to work here, if
you can call it work.

They didn't like Milo much, I can tell
you.

I was never so relieved in all my life
as when Mr. Nightingale sacked them.

Oh, thank you.

indeed for seeing you, Reg. I was saying
to Hypatia only yesterday how miserable

I was because you'd utterly deserted me
and here you are.

Have you just come to renew acquaintance
with scenes of your former glory?

Scarcely. You've got a couple of
seconds.

I've got a whole free period.

You've heard about Elizabeth
Nightingale?

What a ghastly thing.

You were very sick with them.

I want to know about the nightingale.
else, Lionel.

I only know anything you can tell me.

I know you won't let yourself be
inhibited by any foolish scruples like

good taste or speaking ill of the dead.

I don't know what to mean. I was very
fond of Elizabeth. We've known each

other all our lives.

Infants together.

In a manner of speaking.

In a manner of speaking.

She could give you 15 years. Don't you
kid yourself.

It's easy to see someone's got out of
bed the wrong side this morning. I don't

know about the wrong side. I got out of
bed too early.

Where was she born? Here.

Of course.

Didn't you know?

She and Dennis were born here.

I know hardly anything about them.
That's what I liked. Total ignorance. As

I say to the spotted devils here,
blessed are they who hunger and thirst

for enlightenment, for they shall be
filled, even if I have to knock it into

them with a slipper. Can we get on?

Hmm? Can we get on?

Oh, very well.

Um...

Well, they were born here, all right, in
a nasty little damp house down by

Kingsbrook Lock.

Their mother came from London. Quite a
good family.

But their father was Kingsmarkham born
and bred. He was a clerk in the council

offices. Not well off, then.

Poor as church mice, my dear.

Both Elizabeth and Dennis went to the
council school, as it then was, and no

doubt he would have gone on wasting his
sweetness on the desert air.

But for the crash.

A train crash at Cheriton Halt.

Oh, yes. In the 50s.

London train went into the back of a
goods train.

That's right.

1956, five people killed.

Two of them were Villa's pair and mare
on their way back from their Christmas

shopping spree at damages.

Good God.

What happened to the children?

Well, a rather peculiar and most unfair
arrangement was made for them. Dennis,

he was about five then, was sent to his
mother's brother.

and did very well for himself.

This uncle was a barrister in a good way
of doing, and he sent Dennis to some

public school and then to Oxford.

And Elizabeth?

Oh, poor Elizabeth. She was left behind
with her father's sister, who took her

away from the high school when she was
15 and sent her to work at Moran's.

Mrs Nightingale, a great little sister.

I thought that would shake you.

Yes, that old bitch, Priscilla
Larkin-Smith, still goes around telling

her mates about the time she was fitted
for corsets by Elizabeth Nightingale.

How did she come to meet Nightingale?

She wasn't at Moran's for long. She ran
away to London, got a job, clever little

thing, and... Out, spotty devil!

Go on!

Where was I?

Elizabeth Nightingale was in London.

Did she and her brother meet there
again?

That I wouldn't know.

I didn't see either of them again until
I heard that Quentin had bought the

manor. You can imagine my joy when I
heard who this Mrs Nightingale was.

Not really.

Since she was a kid of 15, and you were
nearly 30 when you last met.

Oh, Reg.

You do pour cold water on one's
impulsive little expressions.

I mean, it was lovely to see someone I
used to know. It was always a...

A joy to be with Elizabeth.

I adore those classic English blondes.

Lionel, it's time you got married again.

Oh, no, no, Reg. A man who marries again
doesn't deserve to lose his first wife.

Just one last question.

Were they a happy couple?

They were the perfect happy couple.

Listen, Reg.

If you and your wife never discuss
anything but the weather, a childless,

weighted on hand and foot, and both
equally cold sexually.

What is there to quarrel about?

When the chief inspector calls in, tell
him I'm at my fleet manor, and I'd like

him to meet me here as soon as possible.

Tell him it's urgent, will you?

You have to make allowances for Dennis.

Oh, indeed?

Why? Well, poets are curious creatures.

Poets? I didn't know you could write.
Oh, dear me, yes. By the time you

reappeared in King's Markham, several
very charming little verses of his had

appeared in the New Statesman.

So, as I say, I made alliances. Oh, so
you came back to King's Markham. Yes, I

said, perhaps you're relying on your
sister to give you the entree. I said,

don't forget, she's new here herself.

He went quite white.

My sister here, he said. You know me to
say you didn't know, I said. Christ,

yes. I thought this was the last place
he'd want to show her face in.

Well, what was he so upset about?

I asked myself the same thing at the
time.

Right from the start, Elizabeth acted
towards him as if he's done her some

injury. And as for him, well, the man's
rudeness to her was beyond belief.

But, of course, you can't lay too much
stress on that because, well, Dennis is

foul to everyone except Quentin, and, of
course, Quentin adores him.

Elizabeth and Dennis were enemies right
from the start.

But if you want to know why, I can't
help you.

And she never spoke about it? Never.

What is it, Mike? Come and have a look.

A torch with a big head.

A big head and a long, thick metal tube
thing to hold it with.

About nine or ten inches long.

And when did you last get done here?

Oh, two or three weeks back.

You don't really clean a room like this,
sir, if you take my name.

Young Sean gives it a sweep out every so
often.

Does he?

Well, now we know the weapon we're
looking for.

The same number of men as we had
yesterday.

Yeah.

Straight away, please.

Mrs. Cowden, do you know where Mr. Lady
Gail is?

He's just gone to his study, sir.

Thank you.

There's a torch missing from the garden
room.

I beg your pardon?

A torch, a big one.

Ten, twelve inches long, brass-coloured.

You seen it lately?

It was there on Sunday. I went in to get
my golf clubs. I saw it then.

It isn't there now.

That torch killed your wife, Mr
Nightingale.

I don't honestly think I could take any
more.

Yesterday was the worst day of my life.

Well, I can't promise you that today or
tomorrow will be any improvement.

I think I'm going mad.

I must have been mad to do what I did.

I'd give everything I've got to go back
to Wednesday evening and start again.

Making some sort of a confession.

Because if you want... Not that sort of
confession.

What sort?

It doesn't matter.

Mr Nightingale, this is a very serious
business.

Oh, my God.

What sort of a confession?

Would you get me a drink, please?

Mr Burden?

Whiskey.

Could the inspector believe us?

I'm sorry.

Do you mind waiting outside, Inspector
Brayden?

I don't know where to begin.

I could just tell you baldly.

I need to justify myself.

You said that nobody involved in a
murder case has any right to a private

life.

I can see that now.

I've got to tell you about my private
life so that you'll understand.

I used to go to her room once a
fortnight.

Always on a Saturday night.

And she'd push back the bed covers and
say, This is nice, darling.

Always the same.

And afterwards, when I left her to go to
my room, she'd say, That was lovely,

darling.

She never called me by my name.

Sometimes I think she forgot what it
was.

It was disgusting, really.

Sometimes I used to feel I was married
to a sort of doll that smiled and wore

pretty clothes and had a vocabulary of a
certain limited kind.

And yet, you say you were happy.

Did I say that?

Everyone else said I was.

I grew used to telling myself I must be.

Katja's a really nice person.

Yes.

Her father's an old business associate
of mine.

Runs a small shipping line in Holland.

Pretty girl.

My wife thought she was ugly.

Fat and coarse was the way she once
described her.

I suppose I was attracted to Katja from
the start.

But I didn't do anything about it then.

She was a young girl, and I was well in
loco parentis.

I told myself I thought of her as a
daughter.

We do manage to delude ourselves, don't
we?

You slept with her?

Late before last?

Yes.

It wasn't the first time.

That was five weeks ago.

But it really started eight months ago
when Katja first came.

For the first time I saw a woman who was
close to me, a woman living under my

roof, behaving like a woman.

Well, perhaps not as a woman should
behave.

I don't know.

She had boyfriends all over the place.

She used to tell me about them.

Sometimes in the evening Elizabeth would
be out and Katya would come in from some

date and tell me about it, giggling and
laughing.

One night, after one of these talks with
Katya, I was lying in bed.

Elizabeth was walking in the garden.

I lay there, listening to Katya moving
about upstairs.

I thought I'd give everything I
possessed, I mean literally everything,

if she'd come into my room and sit on
the bed and talk to me.

I put on my dressing gown and went
upstairs.

I knocked on her door.

She was sitting up in bed reading a
magazine.

I didn't have to say anything.

I don't know what I'd have said anyway.

She smiled at me and put out her arms.

Oh, God, this is... There were other
times, not many.

There was the night before last.

I went up to catch her about quarter
past eleven.

I didn't know whether Elizabeth had come
in.

I wasn't thinking about Elizabeth.

Katya and I... I stayed with her all
night.

It was only Palmer walking on the floor
below that woke me.

I sensed that something was wrong.

I got up and dressed.

Pity you didn't tell us all this before,
sir.

Put yourself in my place.

Would you have?

That's beside the point.

All this will have to be corroborated,
Mr Nightingale.

Yes.

Mrs. Dorn?

Mrs. Dorn?

Who is that?

Chief Inspector Wexford.

Oh, good.

I won't be out in a moment.

May I talk to you for a moment?

I won't keep you long, Mrs. Dorn. Will
you sit down?

Do you mind sticking off the radio for a
moment?

You are very serious today.

I'd like to ask you about your
relationship with Mr Nightingale.

What terms were you on with him?

Terms? You know perfectly well what I
mean, Miss Doran.

He's an old friend of my father.

He's very nice and kind.

I like him very much.

He's your lover, isn't he?

Has he said this?

Yes.

Oh.

Would you mind telling me all about it?

No.

Quentin says I must not.

Come, Miss Dorn.

He told me himself.

Do you want Mr Nightingale to go to
prison?

No. This is true?

In England you can go to prison because
you make love?

No, no, of course not.

Look, Miss Dorn.

Just tell me the truth.

And Mr Nightingale won't go to prison.

Just tell me everything that happened
between you.

No, not everything.

Just how it began and so on.

All right.

It's four or five weeks ago.

I am in my bed and there's a knock and
it's Quentin.

Perhaps he's going to say the radio is
too loud or I've parked my car wrong.

But he doesn't have to say something
because at once I know he wants to make

love.

I can see this in his face.

So I think, why not?

I think how he's nice with kind manners
and a thin, straight

body.

And I forget that he's older than my
father in Holland.

Also, I know he's a lonely man married
to a frigid, cold woman.

We made love.

And when he's in my bed, he's not old
anymore.

Yes, yes.

I can imagine that.

And there were other occasions?

Please?

Mr Nightingale made love to you at other
times?

Of course.

He likes me, and I like him.

The next week, and the next week, and
then the night before last.

How long did he stay with you the night
before last?

All the night.

But he went away early in the morning
because he heard the gardener man walk

about.

So I lie in my bed thinking maybe I
shall not see my other friend anymore

and go only with Quentin.

And then I got up too to see why the
gardener man was in the house.

Well, there.

Now I've told it all.

Are you angry with me?

No.

No, I'm not angry, Miss Dorn.

I wish you would call me Katja, please.

Oh, Katja.

Because you're like my old uncle, who's
sometimes kind and sometimes cross like

you.

Yes.

Well, I'm sorry, but I don't see that
this story of theirs lets them out of it

at all.

On the contrary, they could have been in
it together.

When he got her word for it that she'd
joined him at 11.15, could have been

later. Of course she'd back him up.

Why would she?

What would she gain from being an
accessory to the murder of her

employer's wife?

Marriage to Nightingale, of course.

Oh, don't stop saying of course.

It's far from of course.

You really are dead old-fashioned.

First, I want you to know that I believe
Nightingale.

I believe his story because there's some
instinct in me that makes me recognise

the truth when I hear it.

And secondly, what makes you suppose a
catching doll wants to marry him?

He's an old man to her.

She said as much.

Yes, that's all very well. She's not
some sort of a Lady Macbeth.

For all her immorality, which is
doubtless how you'd put it, she's a

nice, normal girl who'd recoil in horror
at the thought of taking a man into her

bed fresh from the murder of his wife.

Mike, we're going to have to...

rethink the whole pattern of these
domestic murder cases.

Times have changed.

Yes, I know times have changed.

But they haven't changed that much. You
don't change human nature.

There are two lines to pursue.

Who was Mrs Nightingale's lover?

And who had access to the torch?

Well, who did have access to him?

Nightingale himself?

Mrs Cantrip? Will Palmer?

Sean Lovell?

George in the Villas?

Dennis Willers. Cut to your dawn.

What about John Lovell?

He's confessed his admiration for Mrs.
Nightingale.

He's young, hot-headed, therefore
jealous.

It might not have been him that she went
out to meet, but he might have seen her

with another person.

He had access to the torch.

His alibi is hopeless, and his garden
keeps out under the forest.

She was old enough to be his mother.

Oh, my God, my...

You don't know anything about life, do
you?

Don't you ever fancy any of your
mother's friends?

Certainly not.

My mother's friends were like aunts to
me. I called them auntie.

I still do come to that.

What's so funny?

You are.

If I didn't laugh, I'd go round and
twist.

Inspector.

Inspector.

I couldn't understand it, sir. I just
came in and there it was. Someone's put

it back.

Whilst we were here, someone's put it
back.

It was washed, but traces of blood were
found under the base screw, the lamp

screw, and under the switch.

Same group as Mrs Nightingale's. It's
not much doubt that it was the weapon.

What about Philip?

What about him?

Could he have done it?

Well, why would he want to kill his
sister? He hated her enough, it seems.

You still having trouble at home with
Pat and John?

No, no, we didn't.

Well, a brother can dislike his sister.

Not enough to indulge in murder, surely.

Sometimes wonder.

Unless, of course, there's another
reason.

Nothing that I can think of.

Lesson 2.

Qui suis-je? Qui suis-je?

Monsieur Legrand.

Monsieur Legrand.

Comment s'appelle mon fils?

My son's name is Pierre.

My son's name is Pierre. My daughter's
name is Marie.

My daughter's name is Marie. What's your
name?

My name is Roger Maréchal. My name is
Roger Maréchal.

Ain't got one, not that I know of.

Fancy yourself as a comedian, dear.

He's not here.

Where is he then?

How should I know?

I don't interfere with him. All right,
just tell him I want to talk to him.

Let's see him.

You don't want to make that.

Friendly bugger, that one.

Too early for you. How could it be too
early? Is anything a moment ago how

wonderful it would be if dear old Reg
Wexford dropped in? Come in, come in.

Just in the middle of breakfast, you'll
join us, won't you, Reg? Oh, of course

you will.

Reg, this is Hypatia, my amanuensis.

You've no idea the funny looks I get
when I introduce her like that, but then

people are so illiterate, aren't they?

Hypatia, my love, this is Chief
Inspector Wexford, the guardian of our

peace. Hypatia Hancock.

How do you do? How do you do?

Isaiah made an ill-judged marriage when
she was even younger and more hot

-headed.

I'll get you a glass, Chief. Oh, no,
it's too early. Nonsense, dear boy.

Do sit down. It's Saturday.

I'm free of the spotty devils until
Monday.

Well, if you're you, I'm still on duty.

Oh? Well, this isn't a social call. I'm
desperate.

I couldn't understand some of the things
you told me at the school yesterday.

The spotty devils say the same to me
every day.

I couldn't understand this.

You said that Villers and his sister
couldn't stand each other, yet he seemed

to spend every waking moment up at
Mayfield Mallet.

Well, you see, he and Quen got on like a
house on fire, don't you, darling?

Quen was thrilled to bit to find he had
an up-and-coming writer as a brother-in

-law. I suppose he saw himself in the
light of Dennis's patron.

Oh, look, look. No, no, no, don't be a
baby, Reg. Orange juice won't hurt you,

nip it up. Well, it's just to kill off
all that nasty vitamin C.

Of course, the, uh...

The worst thing was, a couple of years
ago, Quentin and Elizabeth had arranged

to go to Yugoslavia on holiday, and at
the last moment, Quentin got measles.

And then Quentin came up with the bright
idea that Dennis go instead of him.

Cheers. Cheers. What happened?

Well, Elizabeth told me she absolutely
dreaded being stuck with Dennis in

Dubrovnik, but Quentin said that he'd
never forgive either of them if he

stayed at home on his account, so they
had to put up with it.

Did he go? Well, they must have rowed
the whole time.

They looked absolutely rotten when they
got back.

And there was a distinct coolness
between Dennis and Quent all the

following winter. Dennis even stopped
going up to the manor. And then one day

in June, the summer before last, I was
up there, and in walks Dennis.

You're a stranger, Quent says, but I
could tell he was overjoyed. Why did he

suddenly appear again?

Well, all he said was, I only came to
tell you I can't go to Rome with you

next month.

So they made some arrangements?

Apparently. Oh, so they weren't on
non-speaking terms, then? Oh, no, no,

no. It was just that he didn't spend all
his evenings and weekends up there

anymore.

Why do you think he didn't go to Rome?

Well, that's the funny part.

He said, I've come to tell you I can't
go to Rome with you next month.

I promised the head I'd be one of the
escorts to the school party.

I almost fainted dead away.

You must be out of your mind, I said.

I can't tell you the length Lionel will
go to to get out of it.

And always successfully, darling.

So I said, what, you'll path up Rome
with a lousy Costa Brava? He said, I'm

going, it's all fixed. He was adamant.

I think Elizabeth was absolutely
delighted not to be stuck with old

Miseryface. In fact, she told me as
much.

when I went up there to witness her
will.

And her will...

He

wants to leave.

How are you used to meeting Mrs
Nightingale?

Don't make me laugh.

I haven't set foot in here since
December on account of him being in

there.

Me and old Palmer got strict orders not
to come in here in case we disturb him,

see?

You're going to the garden, Revenant,
aren't you?

Going to sweep it out?

Ever borrow a torch, Lovell, to light
your way when you went to meet Mrs

Nightingale in the forest?

Are you off your nut?

You trying to make out I was carrying on
with Mrs.

Nightingale?

You're just a dirty-minded old prat,
you. All right, I don't do.

You were on extremely friendly terms
with her. We know that.

So? She was helping me, that's all.
Helping you do what?

What? My career.

Oh, I see. Helping you do the gardening.

Gardening.

That's not my career.

Oh? What is, then?

Doesn't matter.

Tell me, what is your career, then?

You're like the rest of them.

No, seriously. Come on, tell me.

I know it all, see?

I know it backwards, like it was written
inside my head.

I could tell you the way all the charts
were right back for years. I could pass

exams.

There's not one of those so-called DJs
who knows half what I do.

You're just ignorant, you are.

You're all the same.

Like my old lady with her men and her
booze and her plain pig ignorance.

You think I'm going to spend 40 years
doing this?

End up like Will Palmer.

Brain dead.

You think that's all I'm fit for?

I'll show you.

Mrs Nottingdale was the only one who
understood.

And she's dead.

And what was Mrs Nightingale going to do
for you then?

There was this bloke in the BBC she
knew.

She was going to mention my name.

Maybe for singing.

Maybe for a DJ.

All I've got to do is be there.

They can't ignore me if I'm there.

What's wrong with gardening?

These fancy ideas never get you
anywhere.

Oh, yeah.

Grow up, settle down, kill your brain.

Why did you tell the chief inspector you
were watching a television programme

when that television programme wasn't
even shown?

I had been watching the telly.

I got fed up.

My old lady had her bloke in for the
evening, that Al Tony.

Sat there grinning at me like a couple
of Toby jokes.

He's very witty, that Al Tony.

One fell after another, my mother's dad,
ever since I was a child.

And all they've ever wanted is me out of
the way.

When I was about ten, I saw my mum at
one of them, kissing and pawing each

other. And I picked up a carbon knife
and went for her.

I'd have killed her.

I would.

Only the bloke got the knife away and
hit me.

I see. Inclined to let your feelings run
away with you, are you? I was ten, for

Christ's sake.

Not like that now.

She can do what she likes.

Your mother, this is?

Yes.

My mother.

When you got fed up with your mother and
Alf Torney, where did you go?

Down to my shed.

What do you mean, down to your shed?
What were you doing down there?

I was sitting there.

That's all.

Just saying.

Why didn't you tell me that your wife
had made a will, Mr. McGowan?

Good God.

Is that your complete answer?

Frankly, Chief Inspector, I didn't tell
you my wife had made a will for the very

good reason that I'd forgotten all about
it.

I don't for a moment imagine it's even
legal.

It was just a piece of nonsense my wife
took into her head.

You know.

No, I don't. I always thought that
people in your position had a solicitor

to make their wills for them.

Who is your solicitor, Mr. McGowan?

But no solicitor was involved. I told
you it was just a piece of nonsense.

I can't imagine how you came to hear
about it.

Oh, sorry, I'm in your way.

It was last summer.

My wife and I decided to go to Rome for
our holiday.

And we intended to fly.

My wife didn't like flying.

She usually went on holiday by sea and
car.

She was afraid to fly.

Well, afraid is putting it too strongly.

Well, if she made a will, I suppose she
thought she might die.

Afraid is not too strong a word to use
in the anticipation of death.

You're looking at it much too
dramatically.

She was a little anxious, but she was
quite prepared to joke about it.

It was a sort of joke.

I told you, I never took it seriously.

But you did, Mr. Nightingale.

No, no.

It was just that one day, I noticed my
wife scribbling something on a sheet of

paper. I asked her what she was doing,
and she said she was making a will.

I'm afraid I didn't even look at it. You
weren't very interested.

I took it...

for one of those romantic fads very
feminine women go in for.

I doubt it was witnessed or anything
legal like that.

Well, it was witnessed by at least one
person.

Really? Who?

Lionel Marriott.

Really? Now, come along, Mr Nightingale.

I can't let this pass.

What became of that piece of paper that
your wife was scribbling on?

He gave it to me and asked me to put it
in my safe.

I suppose it's still here.

I've forgotten about it.

I presume a little bit had to do.

There it is.

There, sir.

This will is perfectly legal, sir.

It's witnessed by Myrtle Annie Cantrip
and Lionel Hepburn Marriott and

correctly signed by your wife.

You'd have a great deal of difficulty
contesting this, sir.

But I don't want to contest it.

Don't you want to know what it contains
before you commit yourself?

Well, what does it say?

This is the last will and testament of
me, Elizabeth Francis Nightingale, born

villas being of sound mind.

I leave all my money...

including the money my husband invested
for me, to Sean Lovell of Two Church

Cottages, my fleet, in the hope that he
will use it in the furtherance of his

ambition.

Good heavens.

And all personal jewellery I possess to
my sister-in-law, Georgina Villers, of

55 Kingsmarkham Road, Clusterwell, so
that she may indulge her love of

adornment, although, as a virtuous
woman, her price is above rubies.

Elizabeth wrote that.

Yes. Is that all?

That's all.

How much money did your wife leave, sir?

Oh, nothing to speak of.

She was overdrawn, as a matter of fact,
on her private account.

It was about eight or nine hundred
pounds I invested for her years ago.

Something troubling you, sir?

No, no.

Oh. Mrs. Willard seems to be a lady
who's fond of jewellery.

Let's hope there are a few nice pieces
for her.

A few nice pieces.

A

few

nice pieces.

This is my wife's jewellery, Chief
Inspector.

At a rough estimate, I'd evaluate it...

600,000 pounds.

I don't understand any of this.

Nor do I, sir.

Nor do I.

Not yet, I don't.

You startled me, sir.

Do you like a cup of tea?

I beg your pardon?

There'll be no problem, will there?

There'll have to be a forest park to
clear it.

They're all at sixes and sevens these
days, and that's a fact.

Sir, do you good?

And there's Will Palmer in there waiting
to have a word with you.

Oh? What's he want to talk to me about?

Wouldn't say, sir.

Something about his scars was all he'd
say.

All right.

I've got something to show you,
Governor. Yes?

Where did you find this? In a hole in
the oak, way down Cleaver's Vale.

And where might Cleaver's Vale be?
Cleaver's Vale?

He don't know where Cleaver's Vale is.

Why should he know?

It's part of the estate there.

It's the bit you come to first when
you're coming from King's Markham.

I was by way of clearing that old fungus
from the oak.

And I come on this hole, see.

Likely an owl made it.

Squirrel.

Oh, squirrel.

As I was going to say, I'll spare me the
natural history.

The hole would be about...

Six foot up, I reckon.

Level with the top of my head, it was.

This old fungus swore round a hole, see?

What we call a poor man's oyster, sir.

On account of his cap, looks like an
oyster, see? A mighty good fried he is,

I can tell you.

Stewed.

Or stewed.

Can we get on with it?

I was just about to, sir.

To cut a long story short, sir, I sticks
my hand down a hole, and that's what I

found. Was it in the bag, or did you put
it in?

They weren't in no bag of them. They
were just rolled up and stuffed down a

hole. Have you ever seen it before?

I have, sir.

It belonged to poor Mrs Nightingale.

Would that be her blood, sir?

I'm afraid so.

You've got to be sick.

Not in my kitchen, you're not.

Both dark and blank.

No guts.

Wants to be a bleeding pop singer.

Mental, I reckon.

That young son level recovered yet, Mrs.
Cantrip?

Oh, he was just shocked, sir. For the
minute, he was.

Well, it is a shock, you must admit,
seeing Madam's blood all over that

beautiful scarf of hers.

What do you know about Alf Tommy?

Oh, he's nobody, sir.

Just the fellow we get our veg and
chicken and such from.

Lives in a caravan on his ground at
Clusterwell.

You wouldn't be interested in Alf.

Oh, I don't know.

Anyone who was associated with Mrs
Nightingale interests us.

Even if he only supplied her vegetables.

Mrs Nightingale never associated with
him, sir.

If you'd ever heard of him, it was only
through that Sean.

You may as well know, sir, since his
common gossip.

Alf carrying on with Sean's mother.

Oh, dear me.

That is bad.

Well, the Summers don't blame Alf. Him
being a widow man, no one to cook his

meals or see to his things for him.

It's her I blame.

Like the Bible says, sir, woman is a
temptation to man and no two ways about

it. True, Mrs. Cantrip.

Very true.

I can't say as I cared without Sean
without her.

But no-one can deny Mrs Lovell's
neglected him shameful.

You might say he never had no proper
mother.

And Mrs Nightingale never had a son.

Oh, Sean wouldn't have dared think of
madam in that way. There are limits.

Well, he's a very handsome young man.

I can't see it myself, sir, but tastes
differ.

Well, thank you very much for the ride,
sir.

You and the young gentleman.

Thank you, Mrs Cantrip.

Young gentleman.

Pardon?

Nothing.

The poor, neglected Sean Lovell
inherited something of Mrs Nightingale's

will.

Do you think he knew?

And killed her for it.

You inherited a great deal of Mrs
Nightingale's will.

Really? I'm surprised.

I had no idea.

You didn't know that she'd made a will
or you didn't know what she'd left you?

No.

You inherited all of Mrs Nightingale's
jewellery.

Really?

Well, when you said the will was in my
favour, I thought it might be something

like that.

Elizabeth didn't have any money of her
own.

She always got through her allowance
long before the next was due. She was

awfully extravagant.

Mrs Willis.

Mrs Willis, you must see that this puts
a very different complexion on the

circumstance of your sister-in-law's
death.

Dennis, there you are.

Do you know what Elizabeth made a will
and left me all those rings and

necklaces of hers?

Dennis, don't.

Dennis, stop it.

May we share the joke, sir?

Just a little irony.

I'll have to speak to you again, Mrs
Willard, about the events of last

Wednesday night.

But why?

I thought it was all over. I was just
beginning to stop thinking about it. Oh,

God.

I can see that I'm going to have to read
that book of yours, sir.

You can have this if it interests you.

Thank you.

It will interest me.

I'm always willing to be enlightened.

For one thing, I'm curious to know why
you've made yourself an authority on

Wordsworth.

Matter of taste, Mr. Wexford.

There's always something to account for
taste, sir.

Well, you've...

brought us the news and you've had your
little bit of literally chit-chat.

Is there anything else?

Yes, Mr. Billows.

I'm investigating a murder, but not very
fruitfully, let me say so.

What's the point, anyway?

Elizabeth's dead.

She can't be resurrected.

You find who killed her, put him in
prison for 20 or 30 years, who benefits?

Who's the happier for it?

Perhaps you approve of capital
punishment, sir.

Capital punishment? No, I'm not in
favour of it. I don't care much.

I don't care about people being kept in
prison either, except if my taxes pay

for their board.

It seems to me, sir, you don't care for
anything very much.

That's right.

I don't like people.

People don't like me.

They're mostly fools, and I don't suffer
fools gladly.

Progress bores me, and so does noise.

I want to be left in peace, to live in
the past.

Let's talk about the pastor.

The recent pastor.

I told you about Wednesday night last
time you were here. If you've got a bad

memory, you ought to have written it
down. Never mind my memory, Mrs. Willis.

You just tell me again.

You left the manor at 10.30 in your
husband's car.

Who was driving?

My husband was driving. He always drives
when we're out together because I think

the man should drive, don't you?

I think the man should always be the
dominant partner in a marriage, give his

wife something to look up to. We're very
happily married.

Good.

At what time did you reach home?

I've told you.

About 20 to 11.

We came in and we went straight to bed.
That's all.

No, it isn't, Mrs Villers. Nobody comes
home from an evening out and goes

straight to bed.

Somebody must have parked the car.

Somebody must have locked up.

If that's what you want to know, my
husband left the car in the drive.

Did you go into the house together?

Of course.

Side by side, squeezing through the door
at the same time?

Don't be silly.

I went in first. My husband followed a
minute later. He locked the car because

it was going to be left in the drive all
night.

Who made sure that the windows were
closed and the back door locked?

My husband always did that.

I went to bed first.

How long did it take you to get to bed?

Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour? You
didn't go to bed unwashed and in all

your clothes?

Of course not.

Well, that was not a detail I wanted,
Villa.

All right.

I put the bedroom light on. I undressed.

I went to the bathroom. Then I went to
bed.

My husband followed about ten minutes
later.

It was reached about half an hour before
we went to sleep.

Double bed, Mrs. Villa? No, we have twin
beds. But you needn't read anything into

that. We're very happily married.

Good.

Now, what time did you go to the manor?

We arrived about half past eight.

I understand you often used to play
briefs there.

How long did you use those days?

Sometimes till midnight during the
holidays.

Wednesday night was still holidays.

Why did you lose the word? Because my
husband had some research to do,

don't... And, er... Well, when we went
home... Yes.

You told me he came to bed ten minutes
after you.

Look, why don't you leave us alone?

We could be very happy if everyone were
just... Leave us alone.

Did you lock up?

No, that's my wife's province. I went
straight to bed and straight to sleep.

Excuse me, sir, may I? Of course.

What about this research you were going
to do down at the school? The essential

research that made you leave the manor
at 10.30?

Don't you ever make excuses to get away
from a boring host and hostess,

Inspector? So this was just an empty
excuse? A deliberate lie?

Sometimes I do tell lies. I'm a good
liar.

Strange that you should bother, sir.

A man who declares himself indifferent
to the opinion of others?

So much he soared beyond, or sunk
beneath, the man with whom he felt

condemned to breathe.

What do you want, Mr. Blues?

Why do you set yourself above everyone
else?

Or beneath them?

Or sunk beneath them, Mr. Wexford.

As to what I want, that's simple.

I want to die.

You're coming, Reg?

Yeah, I'm coming.

What made him jump like that when I
quoted those lines?

I don't know. It was extraordinary,
wasn't it?

Where do they come from, Wordsworth?

No.

I don't know where they come from.
They're just floating about in my mind.

So they won't be too easy to trace.

Are we going to be able to find the
witness to corroborate whether or not he

went out again last night?

Or that she did.

Or that she did.

All we need is somebody who passed the
house and happened to notice whether the

car was there or not.

Which of those two have you got in mind,
anyway?

Well, you'll probably think I'm jumping
to conclusions, Mike.

But I'm as near as damn it certain that
she did it.

She's healthy, strong, used to be a P.E.
teacher.

She's quite capable of felling a woman
with a torch.

And she stands to inherit.

Not her husband.

She was there when the torch was
replaced.

I saw her myself.

But why would she deliberately choose a
torch of all things for her weapon?

Yeah, that bears some thinking about.

Young Lionel Marriott.

Lionel? Oh, hello, Red.

I need to talk to him.

Get that scarf over to the labs, will
you? And then get off home. All right.

Well, well, well, the assembled might of
the King's Markham Law Enforcement

Agency. I'm just leaving, Mr. Marriott.

Not on my gun, dear boy, I trust. No,
no.

Good night, sir. Good night, Mike. Good
night, Mr. Murray. Good night.

Sit down a minute, Lionel.

Oh, dear. Is he happy in his work, do
you think? He always looks so miserable,

poor dear.

Inspector Burden is a Puritan of the old
school.

Oh, dear.

Tell me about the holiday that Villers
took at the Costa Brava. The one he

volunteered for.

A holiday?

Oh, imagine two weeks cooped up with the
spotty devils in a torrid slum. They're

all in an advanced state of psoriasis at
the best of times. But once you get them

in the sun, well... I can imagine.

But he met your junior there, didn't he?

Yeah, yeah, she was there with her own
party of teenage nymphomaniacs.

Hello, my dear.

Not that I heard any... Not that I heard
any of this from Dennis.

No, the first hint I got was just before
he was due back.

Quen and Elizabeth dropped in one
evening. We've got some good news, Quen

says. Dennis has met a girl and they're
going to be married.

Fast worker, I said.

And then, of course, I had to say how
pleased I was and all that rubbish.

When did you first meet her? The
Nightingales gave a dinner party for the

bride.

Everybody who was anybody was there.

Georgina was the last to arrive.

Aha, I thought, making an entrance is a
clever little thing.

None of us had seen it before, so we all
sat there with bated breath.

The women were done up to the nines.
Elizabeth looked wonderful.

Believe it or not, I even saw Dennis
looking at her with a sort of grudging

admiration. And then, just as we can
contain our impatience no longer, in

walks, Georgina, in Woolworth's Pearls,
and, well, we used to call them

tub frogs, and this one had been in the
tub a good many times, I can tell you.

Did those women stare?

Georgina wasn't a bit shy.

In fact, she dominated the conversation
at the table. We heard all about her

little housewifely plans and how she was
going to make a real home for Dennis and

how they were going to have six
children. I must say, Elizabeth was

absolutely charming to her. She even
complimented her on her dress and she

really tried to keep her the centre of
attention.

Elizabeth was bumbling over with gaiety.
She didn't look a day...

Over 25.

Oh, my dear Reg.

Look at the time. You do run on, dear
boy.

Hypatia is an impatient cook.

I'll walk you to the bridge, lad.

There's only one thing that interests
Dennis Villers, and that's his work.

Once they were settled in that
unspeakable little bungalow, he was

buzzing around the manor again just like
the old days. What about her?

Oh, he's everything she wants.

Although you don't see any sign of these
six children, do we, Reg?

I wonder why that can be.

Have you had a chance to look at that
scarf yet?

Yes, I have, as a matter of fact.

If you think Elizabeth Nightingale was
wearing it at the time the deed was

done, you'd better think again.

All right.

Come in.

Brian, has Dr. Burton in yet? No, sir. M
and Sergeant Martin went over to my

fleet, doing a house-to-house. Right. It
would have been saturated with blood if

she'd been wearing it. Perhaps it was
around her neck.

Or she could have been holding it in her
hand.

Oh, I see.

So after she was dead, she took it off
and wiped her head with it.

Because that's what it almost certainly
was useful, to wipe blood off someone or

something. Was it?

You said you were delivering a baby on
Tuesday night.

Yes, why?

Well, did your route to my fleet take
you via Trustwell? Yes, it did. Did you

happen to notice the villa's bungalow?

Were there any lights on or any cars on
the drive? I didn't notice. I was

thinking about my patient.

If only I'd known.

That's what they all say.

Alf Tooney.

He's the chap you want to ask.

His caravan's just near the villa's
place.

And he's always up and about at odd
hours.

Has Laura Chip been up to something?

No, it's nothing to do with Sean. It's
just that I wanted the pleasure of a

little talk with Mr. Tawney here.

With Alf? What do you want with Alf?

Do you fancy a cream horn, Alf?

Don't matter to Alf.

Breakfast, dinner or tea.

He loves a cream horn.

Wasted away he was.

till I got him coming up here for his
meals.

What time do you reckon he'd get away
from here if he'd come up here for your

tea, Mr Tom?

Well, Alf had to be up at times, so he's
always gone from here by quarter to

eleven.

You want to know if he saw anything the
night her up at the manor got killed?

Yes, I do. I just wonder if he took a
look at the villas bungalow. You know

what I mean, on the Clusterwell Road.

Don't know about look.

Alf tried to knock him up, didn't you,
Alf?

They were no good.

They was out.

He had some rabbits to deliver to Mrs.
Villers.

He'd been trying all day, but they was
out.

Well, he didn't want to leave without
the money.

Alf banged and banged, but no one come,
did they, Alf?

No.

What time was that?

Well, Alf left here about ten, and he'd
been knocking a long time when the clock

struck eleven.

Clock the well, church clock.

Go on out. You tell him he was there.

I banged.

No one come.

The lights was off.

He's out and she's out, I said to
myself.

There.

I might have known.

Their cars was gone.

Both on them.

Both cars?

Are you sure?

Oh, he's sure.

Alf don't say much, but when he do, it's
a genuine article.

This house was empty and in darkness at
11 o'clock.

Why didn't you tell me that you'd gone
out again?

I forgot.

You forgot that you'd gone out?

Have you also forgotten where you went?

I went where I said I was going, to the
school library to look up a reference.

What reference?

Would it mean anything to you if I told
you?

All right.

I was looking up the precise
relationship between Lord Gordon

Wordsworth and William Wordsworth.

I see.

Mrs. Willis.

Did you accompany your husband to the
school library?

No.

No? Well, you would hardly have used two
cars.

But you did go out.

Where?

I went out. I drove... I drove round the
lanes.

Why? My wife was annoyed with me for
going out.

So she did what she often does on these
occasions. She took her own car and went

for a country drive to cool her temper.

I'm not convinced, Mrs Willis.

Perhaps we'd talk more frankly down at
the police station.

No! Tell him, please.

Tell him, please.

Tell me what, Mr. Millers?

What my wife wants me to tell you is
that you've been a complete bloody fool.

My sister's jewellery is fake.

It's not worth 50 pounds.

Did you buy this jewellery for your
wife, Mr. Nightingale?

Yes, I did. Every piece.

I've still got the repeats for most of
it, if you'd care to see them.

Oh, later, if I may.

Is there any particular piece that you
know very well?

Yes, her engagement ring, certainly.

Would you mind looking closely at it?

This is a fake.

How do you know?

When I bought it for her, I had some
words engraved inside.

There's nothing inside this one.

It's a fake.

Hello, Chief Inspector.

Hello, Katja.

Is Mr Nightingale at home?

You'd better come in.

I don't know where Mrs Cantor can be.

Quentin is in the drawing room.

It's the Chief Inspector, darling.

Katja. Don't be so stuffy, darling.

We can't keep it a secret forever.

Secret?

I'd like it kept a secret for the time
being.

Katja and I are going to be married.

Indeed, sir.

Then let me congratulate you.

Naturally, we shall wait six months.

A year might be more... Oh, no, Quentin.

It's not fair you make me wait a whole
year for my new sports car.

Well, we'll see. If you've got a moment,
sir, I'd like to have a word with you

alone.

Yes, of course.

If you wouldn't mind touching.

Of course not.

We must get something special for dinner
tonight, eh?

Oh, yes.

A celebration.

I'll go and get Mrs. Cantrip organized.

You know, I think this room would look
really nice in a very pale pink.

I was going to wait, but what you told
me yesterday made me so angry.

She'll go home to her parents until the
wedding.

I want everything to be right.

I'm afraid I have to confirm that these
are all fake, sir.

She obviously sold everything that you
bought her and...

I had exact copies made.

Why?

I gave her all the money she can
possibly have needed. If she wanted

more, she had only to ask. She knew
that.

Would you have given her £600,000, sir?

I'm not that rich, Mr Wexford. But it
was her jewellery to do what she liked

with. She chose to sell it.

Perhaps it doesn't matter why.

I'd like to forget the whole thing.

Your wife sold her jewellery because she
needed money.

Why did she need money, Mr Nightingale?

What did she do with it?

Perhaps you gave it to charity.

£600,000?

Then why did you keep it a secret from
you?

No, sir.

I think that your wife was being
blackmailed. No, that's impossible.

People are only blackmailed when they've
done something against the law.

It isn't only an offence against the
law.

An offence against morality is equally
open to blackmail.

You mean she might have been unfaithful
to me and someone found out?

Something like that.

No, Mr. Wexford, you're on the wrong
track. I'm sorry.

Whatever my wife had done, I would have
forgiven her, and she knew it.

Some things can't be forgiven.

You're a broad-minded man, intelligent,
but you are conventional.

Do you really know yourself?

You know what pleases you, but do you
know what would disgust you?

Nothing Elizabeth would have done.

Perhaps not.

But she believed it would disgust you.

Believed it so firmly that she was
prepared to pay £600,000 to keep it from

you. Who could she have ever known who
would extort money from her?

Well, that's what I was hoping you'd
tell me, sir.

A servant?

Mrs Cantrip?

Will Palmer?

Sean?

You used to have a married couple
working here, sir.

What was their name?

Toohey.

Mr Nightingale missed him for insolence.

He never showed no proper respect, not
from the start.

And he never did a fair day's work, not
as far as I could see.

Always hanging around... Oh, let me.

Oh, thank you, sir.

Hanging around where he wasn't wanted,
snooping and listening, if you know what

I mean.

Well, things came to a head, sir, and
that's a fact.

About a couple of weeks before he was
fat, he grew so disrespectful to Madam,

it was past bearing.

And Madam's so gentle and never standing
up for herself.

She caught him helping himself to Mr
Nightingale's whisky. And when she spoke

to him about it, he said, there's plenty
more where that came from, if you've

ever heard the like.

What about his wife?

Oh, she wasn't so bad, sir.

Under his thumb, as the truth were
known.

She took quite a fancy to me.

Sent me a Christmas card two years
running.

So you've got their address?

I never wrote back, sir.

They weren't the kind of folks as I'd
care to associate with.

But I did notice the first one had a
Newcastle postmark.

What did they do when they left?

Did they go back into service?

Oh, that I couldn't say, sir.

So he was always bragging and boasting,
and he did say he was sick of the life.

Wanted to set himself up in a hardware
business.

Where would they get the capital, sir?

They haven't a penny to bless themselves
with, and that's a fact.

I was wrong.

You were right about practically
everything, it seems, Mike. Funny about

the Dutch girl. That wasn't everything.

I still can't believe it.

Strikes me things don't really change,
Reg.

Not human nature, anyway.

Trouble is, we can't find anybody with
the remotest motive for wanting to kill

Elizabeth Nightingale.

Nightingale isn't a homosexual, is he?

Well, how would it help us if he was?

Well, he and Phyllis kill her so that...
No.

Just making some tea, Reg. Do you want a
cup? Oh, yes, please. No sugar.

What about the blackmail, Andrew?

Well, that brings us back to the same
question.

The motive for murder.

Blackmail for what?

Suppose this Toohey found out the secret
of Villers and Mrs Nightingale's intense

dislike for each other.

I don't see how that gives us a motive
for blackmail.

Well, Nightingale's very attached to
Villers, we know that.

If he found that his wife had done
Villers some dreadful injury... That

doesn't make any sense.

Why does it have to be some dreadful
injury anyway?

It's much more likely that Villers and
Mrs. Nightingale were just incompatible.

I mean, look at my two. They really seem
to hate each other, but there's no

reason for it, as far as I can see.

Here we are.

No sugar.

They've been like cat and dog ever since
Pat was a toddler and John was in his

pram. It'll be different when they're
grown up.

But will it?

Apparently you do get these cases where
brother and sister are just

incompatible.

I don't know. I sometimes think of
sending one of them away to boarding

school. And he knows what I think about
that, Reg.

Is it possible that Toohey killed her
himself?

That he was blackmailing her?

And he killed her when she told him that
the money had run out? But how would he

get hold of the torch?

He's the last person they let have
access to the garden room.

True. And our case against Georgina
falls down because we now know she had

no motive.

John!

Sean could have killed her when he saw
her with another man. No, no, the murder

was premeditated.

Yeah? Give me the big saw from the
garage, will you?

I can't, Dad. It's dark in there.

The bulb's gone. Well, take a torch.
Don't be so feeble.

Well, we are idiots, aren't we?

If you're going into a dark place, you
take a torch.

She took her own torch into the forest.

Nobody planned this murder.

They were just...

Overcome by a sudden impulse and hit
Elizabeth Nightingale with her own

torch. I agree.

She took her own torch into the forest,
but someone else brought it back.

Someone who knew where it was kept.

Exactly.

Thank you.

I'm going to see Sean Lovell on the way
back.

Get cracking on finding Chewie first
thing in the morning, will you? Right.

Good luck,

Mike.

And that is going to be a massive,
massive hit, my children.

Who said so?

Lovell the Shovel said so.

One day he'll tell you all about his
days in the dung heap of horticulture.

Oh, tell us about it.

Then Jericho coming up after the news
and the new ABC album.

This is your idol, Sean Lovell, bringing
you all the music you want to hear when

you want to hear it.

And now, this.

Very fine business from yours truly,
with my latest single...

Open your eyes.

Open your eyes.

So, go to sleep.

Good God.

What's the matter?

I've got to get dressed.

I wonder if it's too early to ring
Katja.

Who?

Miss Doon?

It's Chief Inspector Wexford.

Yes.

Yes, I'm sorry, it's 7.30.

It is important.

You posted a package for Mrs Nightingale
last Wednesday.

Yes.

What size was it?

Was it?

Was it?

You don't happen to remember the
address, do you?

You do?

Oh, could you give it me?

Yeah? Anybody wants me? I'm in London.

I've returned to Victoria, isn't it?

It's about time for me, sir.

That's right.

Excellent.

Born in Dublin about 50 years ago.

Average height, dark, Irish-looking,
whatever that means.

Small eyes, and he's got a zit in the
left corner of his mouth. Unless he's

had it removed, that is.

No, he's only had one conviction. That
was for fraudulent conversion while he

was a hotel manager in Manchester in
1974.

Yeah, but it could be your Newcastle or
Newcastle-under-Lyme.

Good, thank you.

Keep in touch.

There's a couple of local Tuys, Mr
Durden.

One lived in Brighton and the other one
in Corbyn. All right, let's have a look

then.

What are you doing in Brighton?

Yeah.

Well, I've got Tui.

In London.

Look, Brian, I'm catching the 5 past 12
from Victoria.

I want you and WPC Davis to meet me with
a car.

I took the day off work.

Not well.

Then you won't be surprised by the
purpose of our call.

No.

When you...

Quoted Byron at me. I was sure that you
knew why.

Even if you didn't know how.

The truth is, I couldn't remember the
author.

Oh. I thought I'd betrayed myself.

I certainly did when I gave you my book
to read.

And I thought you were too ignorant to
equate a short passage of my book with

my own life.

Too dull and plodding. I apologise for
thinking that.

Your camouflage is effective.

But you can see what attracted me to
Wordsworth.

A man who also loved his sister.

Of course, Dorothy appears in my book as
the merest interlude, but when I was a

young man looking for a subject, you can
imagine what drew me to Wordsworth.

You could have chosen Byron.

Byron. Because he's better known for
his...

and for his verse affects me strangely.
Just the mention of his name, the

quotation of his lines, sets my nerves
on edge.

How did you meet your sister again after
your childhood separation?

It was at the 21st birthday party of a
friend of mine.

This fellow's father brought his
secretary with him, a girl called

Elizabeth Langham.

I don't know. We went out together.

I really had no idea who she was.

As far as I knew, I'd never seen her
before the night of the party.

Sixteen years had passed.

But she must have known.

Yes.

I asked her to marry me, and then she
told me.

For two months, I'd been my own sister's
lover.

The arrangements made for us when we
were children had been very unfair.

She'd run away from Kingsmarkham
altogether with a man called Langham.

She lived with him for a while, took his
name even.

While she was with him, she did a
secretarial course and eventually got a

job with my friend's father.

When she found out that his son and I
were at Oxford together, she was curious

to see me.

That's why she'd come to the party.

It wasn't chance.

I don't know.

Then when she went out with me, it was
with some unformed plan of revenge in

her mind.

But it got out of control.

In spite of what she knew, she'd fallen
in love with me.

It didn't trouble her?

I don't think so.

We parted then.

We had to part.

She went to work in America and I went
back to Oxford.

I don't know how I survived that last
year.

How I managed to get a degree.

What did you do when you came down from
Oxford?

I knew I'd never earn a living from
writing poetry or from writing about it,

so I applied for a teaching job at the
school here.

I thought it was the one town in the
world my sister would be sure to avoid.

Then Lionel Marriott told you Elizabeth
was here?

Yes.

You could have left?

Yes, I could have.

I dreaded seeing her.

I longed to see her.

We met.

She introduced me to her husband.

He bought the manor as a surprise for
her, presuming she'd like to live near

her childhood home.

We made small talk, and when the chance
came, we saw each other alone.

That was the second beginning.

Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately,
Quentin liked me.

Otherwise it would have been impossible.

Elizabeth worked on him in subtle and
devious ways.

Women are tougher than we are.

Less scrupulous, less a prey to guilt.

I suppose she had been in love with him
when she married him and meant to be an

honest, faithful wife, but as soon as I
re-entered her life, she put all that

behind her.

Mr. Phillips, why did you and your
sister behave in public?

as though you hated each other.

Elizabeth Day must have had me as her
lover, and at the same time to keep her

position, her money, her reputation.

She said that if we showed even normal
fraternal affection in public, we would

soon slip into showing a deeper love.

Perhaps she was right, but I always felt
that part of it was a love of intrigue

for its own sake.

And that's when Toohey found out and
started to blackmail you.

Yes, when he had bled me white,
Elizabeth began selling her jewellery

and having copies made.

You haven't found Tui yet, have you?

Yeah. We've got him.

Good.

Because apart from saving Georgina as
much suffering as I can, I've only one

wish left, and that's to see Tui as
wretched as he made Elizabeth.

Did you always feel the same way about
your sister?

You disapprove of me, Inspector, don't
you?

My feelings don't come into it.

I didn't love my sister when we were
children. We were always quarrelling. I

didn't give a damn when we were
separated.

We were glad to get short of each other.

You and your sister went on holiday
together two years ago.

Yes. Quentin had measles.

He insisted I went with her.

People say you looked ill when you
returned.

Lionel Marriott says.

What happened?

Had you quarrelled? No.

We'd been happy.

We'd at last had a taste of what our
life together could have been like.

I wanted her to leave Quentin and come
away with me.

She refused.

If we'd set up house together years ago,
no-one would have suspected we were

brother and sister. Now everyone would
know and the scandal would be

monumental.

That's what she said.

You disagreed?

I'd come to the end.

I was 36.

I'd worked hard all my life and all I'd
earned had gone to keep some Mayfair

Maudist lover in luxury.

I had no wife, no children, no friends.
I lived in two dingy rooms.

And Elizabeth?

For how long do you think?

No. I decided there was nothing for it
but to make a complete break.

So I stopped going up to the manor and I
refused all Quentin's invitations.

I thought I should be able to work.

I lay evening after evening in my room,
thinking, doing nothing, contemplating

suicide.

The strangest thing was I no longer
wanted Elizabeth.

If I missed either of them, it was
Quentin.

He persuaded me to go to Rome with them
and I finally went to the manor to tell

them I wouldn't go.

I looked at Elizabeth and I felt
nothing.

It was incomprehensible to me that I'd
wasted my life loving her.

I went to Spain.

and I went as the escort to a party of
schoolboys.

Georgina was staying in the same hotel.

I'm no longer very attractive to the
opposite sex, Mr Wexford, but she fell

in love with me.

Poor thing.

It was quite a joke in that horrible
hotel, Georgina's love.

I, who'd had everything, and squandered
it, and she, who'd never had anything.

She was plain and shy and dull.

When we were married, I brought her to
the manor.

Elizabeth was triumphant.

I only had a look at her and I knew I'd
done a dreadful thing.

I was still in love with her.

That was the third beginning and the
last.

I didn't listen to the stern daughter of
God's voice or the voice of my wife

clamoring for me to be a real husband to
her, a compensation for her long

loneliness.

I listened to my sister.

What happened on the day of Mrs
Nightingale's death?

We'd spent the afternoon together, but
there wasn't enough for us. We were sick

for each other, so we arranged to meet
in the forest at 11.

Quentin's invitation to... Hello, Mrs
Dillard.

Come in.

Georgina Billers, you're charged with
the murder of Elizabeth Frances

Nightingale.

You have the right to remain silent, but
anything you say may be used in

evidence.

I don't care what you take down in
writing.

She had everything. It was disgusting.

She had everything, and all I had was
Dennis.

So she had to have him too.

If I'd known before, I would have killed
her sooner. I killed her as soon as I

knew.

And she was so patronising.

Right up till the end, she patronised
me.

It was a scarf she gave you that night,
wasn't it?

Oh, yes, she gave me a lot of her cast
off.

She thought it was ever so amusing to
see me dressed in her handed-down

finery.

She liked Dennis to see me in things
that she'd replaced by something better.

I used the scarf to wipe her blood off
the torch.

Those were her last words to me. That
scarf really suits you, dear.

She bent over to pick up her torch. She
didn't know I'd already picked it up.

I'd seen her kissing Dennis.

I'd seen her hand all over him.

I'll get tired of him one day. She said,
you can have him back.

What she said to me.

I don't know anything.

Poor woman.

Dad.

Him too.

I mean, it wasn't really his fault, was
it?

It wasn't anybody's fault.

It hadn't been for that train crash that
killed their parents.

That's it.

Blame it on British Rail.

What made you see the light, Reg?

That book of Dennis Riller's.

I couldn't sleep, so I read it.

I should have read it when he gave it
me.

I can't remember things like I used to.

I'd forgotten about Wordsworth and his
sister.

I'm an ignorant old copper.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm past it. Oh,
come on, Reg, that's nonsense.

Yes, it bloody well is.

But I don't read enough.

And I don't use my intuition like I used
to.

Night-night, Mike.

Good night, Red.